Poor Dad Met Woman at Divorce Support Group, Not Knowing The Billionaire Was Starting Over Too
Starting Over in the Basement
The sound of a metal folding chair scraping across Lenolium echoed through the community center basement. Yates Miller arrived late to his first divorce support group meeting, drawing the attention of everyone in the circle. The woman with the striking emerald eyes and no makeup seemed just as uncomfortable as he felt.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, sliding into the empty seat.
Balancing a worn leather notebook on his knee and trying to ignore the coffee stain on his khaki pants. A parting gift from his six-year-old daughter Emma’s breakfast mishap before he dropped her at school.
Yates had never imagined at 34 he’d be sitting in a circle of strangers discussing the dissolution of his 8-year marriage. But here he was, 3 months after signing the papers that made his divorce final.
The group facilitator, Deianne, nodded encouragingly.
“Would you like to share your name and perhaps why you’re here today, Yates?”
“I’m Yates Miller. My divorce finalized 3 months ago. I have a daughter, Emma; she’s six. I’m a high school English teacher.”
“I’m trying to figure out how to be a good dad while only seeing her 3 days a week.”
Several heads nodded in understanding. Yates found himself studying the woman across from him. Unlike several others who appeared professionally dressed, she wore simple jeans and a plain navy sweater. No jewelry except a simple watch.
“I’m Vivian Neil,” she said when her turn came, her voice surprisingly steady. “My divorce was finalized 6 weeks ago after 15 years of marriage. No children.”
She offered nothing more and Deianne didn’t push. After the meeting, Yates lingered, pouring a cup of the terrible coffee more for something to do with his hands than any desire to drink it.
“First meeting?” he asked, approaching Vivian carefully.
“That obvious?”
“Takes one to know one,” he replied, lifting his cup. “This is possibly the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted, and as a teacher, that’s saying something.”
“I was just thinking the same thing. I’m Vivian, by the way.”
“Yates.”
“There’s a decent coffee shop around the corner if you’d rather talk somewhere that doesn’t smell like disinfectant and regret.”
Vivian hesitated, then nodded. “That would be nice, actually.”
At the coffee shop, Bean There, Yates noticed how Vivian scanned the menu prices before ordering just a plain coffee.
“So, high school English teacher?” she asked.
“Going on 12 years now. I teach American literature to juniors and seniors. What about you?”
“I’m between things at the moment,” she answered vaguely. “Starting over.”
“Starting over. That seems to be the theme of my life lately.”
“How is your daughter handling everything?”
“Better than me, some days. She’s with her mom most of the time. Carrie, my ex, got a job offer in Seattle.”
“They’re moving next month, which means I’ll go from seeing Emma 3 days a week to maybe once a month.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”
“Don’t apologize. That’s why we’re all in that basement, right? To dump our stuff somewhere.”
